Imagines Incandorens
by Amiee Amelie
Summary: Putting on a masqurade of your life is often not a good idea. Especially when the masque begins to melt
1. Me

Title: A Simple Twist of Fate 

Author :Amiee Amelie

A/N: This may not be your idea of a normal, run of the mill, _Newsies_ story. Nor did I ever intend it to be. The fact that I'm British may be seriously detrimental to the plot and the characters-or it may not. That, I believe is your call. I have tried to keep with American spelling, punctuation, and the slang used in the movie. You'll forgive me, I hope, if I slip every once in a while. I discovered _Newsies_ while visiting an American cousin of mine…and have been thoroughly obsessed with it since. Much as I don't like messing with things that are perfect, I've had this story futzing about in my head for several days, and I have finally decided to break down and write it. Several things about it-I'm not going to write the characters with their accents. I wouldn't be able to write it properly, and, it is extremely irritating to decipher it. For me, anyway. So, as I'm sure you are all well acquainted with the characters and their accents, I will leave it to your own imaginations. The two characters who do not have New York accents are Davey, obviously, and the character whom you are about to meet. –Don't panic, I thoroughly detest "Mary Sue" characters of any age or gender, and this new character will not be one. I will do my best to keep the style and tone of the original movie, however; as stated before, this type of story may have been written before, and, as it starts, you may completely convinced that you've read it all before. Trust me, you haven't. This may not be your idea of a normal, run of the mill, _Newsies_ story.

~**~

            I put on my cap and pulled it low-almost down to my eyes. I didn't need any mirror to see that I looked like I had climbed out of a garbage heap in Brooklyn. And that was the way I liked it. Ratty trousers that had seen far better days, a shirt that was about five sizes too large, a nasty old plaid vest that had been my grandfather's, and, for reasons unknown to man, somehow did not reach the rubbish bin where it belonged, but instead got passed down through the generations to me. A black cap and navy-blue neckerchief that I had always been rather fond of completed the picture. 

            It wasn't exactly something Auntie dearest would allow me to traipse off to school in, if you catch my drift.

            But that was alright. I wasn't gonna traipse off to school, because I was sick of school and I was sick of my bloody aunt who hated me anyway. It's not like my sudden disappearance would concern her; not when she has complained every day for the past six years since my parents dumped me here and never came back. Not since the very first words and the words I heard every day of my life from her were "rambunctious, nasty little heathen." 

            Well, I had put up with it since I was ten years old, but I wasn't gonna put up with it any more. The loud, abusive words that would come pouring out of her mouth would be officially a thing of the past. I knew I had to get out of this house or else go crazy. So I picked my city to run away to, and started planning. 

            I was obviously going to go to New York. It was the closest city to Auntie's house-only twenty miles, and ideal that if she ever got it into her head to look for me, I would never be found. 

            Not that she'd think to look for me on her own, mind. But if the school master or welfare came knocking at the door looking for me, she'd probably shriek in "surprise," put on a fainting act that wouldn't convince anybody, and then start a half-hearted search.

            Next I had to figure out how I was going to support myself. It wasn't like the pile of books I had read or arithmetic problems I had done was gonna find me food any time soon. I figured I'd work in a factory, or as a shoe shiner. Something that didn't make a lot of money-but didn't require a lot of training, either. Something where I wouldn't draw attention-be among the millions of shoe shiners in New York City. And I'd have enough money to get me started.

            Ok, tell me that I don't have any principals and that I'm going to Hell. It doesn't really matter. I'll admit it up front. I stole three dollars from dearest old auntie. I know it's a lot of money. Go ahead and gasp in surprise and shock. She hollered about it going missing for a couple of days and then forgot about it. But hey, I had to have enough money to eat and to start my job and get train fare. Yeah, train fare. What, you thought I'd be walking twenty miles and wouldn't eat for a couple of days until I could start a living? Poor but honest, right? Ha! It's a wonder you're alive today, with a naïve little brain like that. And it's not like the old bat was handing out dough, either. Desperate times call for desperate measures, you know.

            But anyway, one day, in the midst of planning, I caught Auntie sniffing in that disapproving way of hers over an article in The Sun. So I stole that too. (Yeah, I'm a regular little Artful Dodger. Right out of Oliver Twist. And yeah, my parents did teach me better. But trust me, when you've lived with a hag like that for six years, it's not like you care about treating "your elders" better anymore.) Well, I'm glad I stole it, because that newspaper turned all my plans around. I wasn't gonna be a factory worker, or a shoe shiner, either. 

            I was gonna be a newsie.

            I knew, for starters, that it wasn't gonna be easy, living on the streets of New York. Especially for me. I was too-well-girly looking. My fingers were too long and I was too short-5'7-and too thin and my eyes were too big and far too blue. I wasn't your normal knight in shining armor…or even an epitome of manliness.

            That alone was enough to get me soaked at least five times a day. That'd change, though. I may look a little girly, but I wasn't gonna stand there like some wussy prick and take it, either. If they thought that they were messing with the wrong newsie. Well-soon to be newsie.

            The fact of the matter was, I knew life wasn't gonna be a picnic, but it had to be better than living with dear old Auntie-who's idea of a "nice outfit" was one with ruffles. Like _that_ helped my cause. Then I looked even _more_ like a wussy prick. 

            Well, those days were gone. Just like I'd be, soon. I grabbed my bag and walked out the front door, slamming it shut with a bang. It didn't matter if dear old Auntie woke up and heard it.

            She wouldn't follow, anyway.

~**~ 


	2. Crutchy

Title: A Simple Twist of Fate

Author: Amiee Amelie

A/N: My note was far too long winded last chapter, so I'll keep it short this time. Just read the story. :) 

~**~

Chapter 2: Crutchy

            Some new kid came walking in here  today. He looked almost as bad as we do after a three days at work and the whole city's in a drought so you can't take a bath.

            And trust me, that's definitely saying something. Smelling something, too. It's impossible to sleep until you get used to the stench. 

            But anyway, this kid just traipses up to Kloppman, throws a whole dollar onto the desk and says he wants to stay here. 

            Dunno why. If I had that kinda money I'd be staying at some fancy hotel, or something. If Jack had the kind of money he wouldn't be in New York right now. We were pretty famous for a couple of days after the strike, but then everything went back to normal. 'Cept for the fact that now Jack has a girl and Davey actually doesn't mind that it's his sister. That would normally get Jack a soaking for sure—but it is Davey, after all. He may got brains, but there's no question of who'd come out on top if he tried to soak Jack. 

            But I'm getting ahead of myself again. Like I always say, it's this brain of mine. It's got a mind of it's own. 

            Thought that one up myself. Davey's not the only one with brains.

            So this kid, he's tiny. Not tiny as in short. He's somewhere between  Jack's height and mine. Tiny as in, Les could snap him like a twig, given he were in the right mood. 

            His outfit wasn't so hot, either. Especially given the money that he had on him. He looked like one of us, pretty much. 'Cept for the fact it looked like his shirt was five sizes too large. Had a pretty snappy vest, though. And his hat was pulled down so low on his face, it didn't look like he had hair. 

            So anyways, after giving Kloppman that astonishing display of wealth, the kid picks up his bag, and follows Kloppman up the stairs to find a bunk. I hope it's not the one on top of mine. That kid really looks like he could use a bath.

            "Hey," said Mush, who had, like me, been watching the entire scene. "Who's Baldy?" 

            I had to laugh. The kid really looked bald. 

            "Dunno," said Race, lighting a cigarette. "But he had a ton of dough on him. Did ya see that?"

            "Nah," Boots looked very disappointed. "His back was to me. How much?"

            "A dollar." Racetrack puffed contemplatively on his cigarette. "I wonder if he-"

            "Aw, Race," I chucked my hat at him. "Give him a couple of days, will ya? He just got here. Don't swindle him out of his money just yet."

            "Yeah," Boots piped up hopefully. "Ya never know, he might pay for lunch."

            "What good'll that do? Bet he's a tightwad anyways. But I can give him really good odds on…" 

I lost the rest of his sentence as he bounded up the stairs, nearly knocking over Kloppman on his way back down. I looked at Boots and Mush, who shrugged. Maybe we could stop Racetrack from taking _all_ of Baldy's money. Maybe he _would_ pay for lunch.

~**~

            We found Baldy sitting on the bed, toeing the ground with his boot. Race was just introducing himself when we got upstairs.

            "I'm Racetrack, pleased to meet ya." He proffered his hand for a shake. Baldy didn't even look at it. Race finally noticed that we had entered the room.

            "Oh, this here's Crutchy, Boots, and Mush." He still didn't look up. Must have been crazy shy or something.

            There was the sound of several pairs of boots clomping up the stairway. 

            "Hey, we heard there was some new kid up here." Jack had made an appearance. That was good. There was hardly anybody who wouldn't talk to Jack. 

            Racetrack scrutinized the crowd of people and continued to reel off names for Baldy, who apparently couldn't care less. He just sat on the bunk, and looked at his boots.

            "That's Skittery, Specs, and this here's Cowboy. Hey, maybe I can interest you in…"

            "You got a name, kid?" asked Jack. He was finally taking hold of the situation. He usually did.

            The kid actually looked up. I knew Jack would get to him. Then this look came over his face, like Jack was his long lost brother, or something.

            "We call him Baldy," said Racetrack, making a grab for the kid's hat. "'Cause it looks like he ain't got no hair."

 The kid hung on to the hat with both hands, glared up at Race, and opened his mouth to say something. 

"Dear me," said Racetrack, getting a good look at the kid's face for the first time. "We probably should have called him something else. Like, oh I dunno, Princess for example? He's as pretty as one."

Baldy's glare turned into an out-and-out scowl. He stood up from the bed, and before any of us knew what was going on, he had knocked Race down. 

Jack looked from Baldy to Race, and started to laugh. No one could say Racetrack didn't deserve that; not even Race himself, who would probably have a shiner the size of a Delancy's nose tomorrow. Race didn't even bother to hit him back. He just sat there on the floor, looking very dazed.

The kid put out a hand to help Racetrack up.  He finally spoke, in a low-pitched, husky voice; one that sounded almost like he was trying to make it lower than it was.

"Baldy," he said, "Will be just fine."

~**~


	3. Part I: Jack Part II: Baldy

Title: A Simple Twist of Fate

Author: Amiee Amelie

~**~

Chapter 3 part I: Jack

            "So what do ya think?" Racetrack was sitting on the counter of the washstand, swinging his legs. Crutchy was opposite him. They both seemed to be waiting for my reaction. Great.

            "'Bout Baldy?" I shrugged, adjusting my bandanna. "He soaked you pretty good, Race."

            "Not that he didn't deserve it," said Crutchy. He seemed to have taken a liking to the new kid. "Anyways, it's not like you needed protecting, either, Race. Ya coulda hit him back."

            "Didn't need to," Racetrack grunted. He pulled out a cigar. "He made his point. He don't wanna be messed with. I understand that."

            "I like him," I finally pronounced. "He's a good kid. He's got guts. We coulda killed him after he hit Race, but he did it anyways. That takes guts."

            "He don't take to being called 'Princess' either," said Racetrack, wincing at the bruise already purpling his cheek. 

            "I don't know no one who takes to being called 'Princess,'" I said. I stuck my hand in the water barrel, ran it through my hair, and turned. "Don't wait up late for me, now," I grinned.

            "You take care of yourself, Jack," Crutchy grinned too. "Those hot dates of yours aren't good for business."

            "'Specially when you can't get up in the morning," Race added. "Hey Crutchy, ten to one says he don't get up til seven tomorrow…"

            I laughed, and headed over to the Jacob's.

~**~

Chapter three, part II: Baldy

            Jack didn't come in late, the way Racetrack had bet me he would. I grinned. Boy, was Race gonna be sore in the morning. And not just from the shiner I had given him. 

            Jack had stumbled through the doorway, looking slightly groggy. Racetrack stood up and glared at him.

            "Hey, Cowboy, you lost my bet! Now I'm gonna…" He stopped at the look Jack had thrown him, and sat back down again. Jack clomped up the stairs and into the dorm.

            "What's up with him?" Mush looked up from the hand of cards he was losing.

            "Jack don't hardly ever act like that," Crutchy looked a little concerned.

            "Maybe he's sick or something?" Racetrack laid down his cards in front of a disappointed Mush. "Straight."

            "Wonder if they did something with the prices of the papes again…"

            "Hold up…" I tried to get a word in edgewise.

            "They wouldn't do that, would they?"

            "Hold up…"

            "Not so soon…"

            "Not after what happened last time…"

            "Especially since Spot Conolon's on our side…"

            "SHUT UP FOR A MINUITE, WILL YA?!" The room got suddenly quiet. At least I had got my point across. Even if these blockheads couldn't figure out what had happened to their friend, I sure could. How many times I had seen it before?

            "Listen, did Jack have a girl?" Everybody was staring at me like I had grown three heads. Great.

            "Yeah," Mush finally answered. "Davey's sister. Why?"

            "Well, I don't think he has one any more."

            "Nah, couldn't be…"

            "Jack would never…"

            "Davey wouldn't let her…"

            "What makes you think…"

            I sighed. Good heavens. I headed up the stairs, in the same direction as Jack, leaving them arguing down below.

~**~

            I found Jack lying listlessly on his bed. I tried to shake the memories out of my head, the ones of the brother who left me like my parents. I would come in, finding him lying on the bed just like that; slightly tipsy and clammed up. Then once he was back in his right mind, he would relate the whole thing, always about a girl. Same old story.

            "Get up," I snapped.

            "What?" he stared at me in surprise.

            "Get up, or I'll soak you." 

            He started to laugh, precisely the reaction I wanted. What could at skinny, hundred pound kid do to _him?_ The shock seem to get him moving. He climbed down from the bed. Before he had time to react, I had grabbed him by the bandanna and hauled him into the washroom. That was always the way to work. Keep the shocks coming when they weren't completely sober. I threw a wet towel at his head.

            "Wash your face," I said. He stared at me again. Maybe I had grown three heads. Ah well. He just stood there and stared at me like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. I sighed, grabbed the towel off his head, rubbed it briskly with a bar of soap, and scrubbed his face with it. Finally, another reaction.

            "Ow! What are you doing? What are you, me mothe…" He was cut off as his head was shoved into the water barrel. He came up, dripping and sputtering. "Listen here…" he grabbed my by my vest. "That…"

            "Worked like a charm," I finished for him. "You're sober now, aren't you?" He thoughtfully released my vest. 

            "Well…yeah…"

            Now was the hardest part. You had to ask enough questions to keep them off balance until they said everything they had to. Otherwise they'd sit and brood for days.

            "Good. She didn't see you like that, did she?"

            "Who Sarah? Nah, it was after…"

            "She said goodbye," I finished again. "Good…that would be the worst thing you could do, showing up like that…Who'd she leave for? Spot?"

            "Yeah, she said…" he suddenly glared. "How do you  know…"

            "Listen, you're gonna think I'm crazy," I said. "The boys downstairs don't know what's going on, and they were talking about Spot. I figured it had to be him because none of them would ever think of doing that to you. Spot's an outsider. It wouldn't matter."

            "Yeah, I 'spose…" He turned listless again. "Dunno why, though."

            "Were you mean to her?"

            "No."

            "Neglect her?"

            "No! I mean, it's not like I coulda been with her every second of the day, but…"

            "That's a no then. Did you buy her presents?"

            He looked up, surprised. "What?"

            "That was a joke."

            "Right. Maybe I shoulda, though…"

            "No. You don't got the money, Jack, and she knows it. Did you ever hit her?"

            "What? No! Whaddaya take me for…"

            "Were you always a complete gentleman around her?"

            "Uh…"

            "Right," I said. "But hey…did you love her?"

            "No." He looked confused. "But wait…nah, I thought I did. But no."

            "There's your problem then," I finished. "You didn't love her, so she couldn't love you. So she left for Spot. Is that really enough to waste money on for a couple of beers? No."

            "Yeah, she was a great girl, though…" He pushed his soaking hair out of his face. "I dunno why I'm even telling you this. I don't know you, you just came in today, and you've already soaked Race and stuck my head in the water barrel…"

            "'Cause I'm figured out what's going on," I said. "'Cause I'm not an idiot and I'm the best you've got at the moment. So you might as well sit here and tell me everything, cause you got time."

            He looked at me warily. "How do I know you're not gonna…" 

            "Put this on every headline?" I finished. "Who'd care anyway? And besides, even if I did, I probably wouldn't be walking for the next couple of days."

            "Right," He tugged at his hair. 

            "So why didn't you love her?"

            "I dunno, I shoulda. She was…"

            "A great girl, I know. But you didn't. Why?"

            "Well…" He hesitated, then exploded with a torrent of words. "She didn't have any guts at all. Like the Delancy's went after her and her brothers and she took one swing at them and then didn't try again. Or she'd get scared with me but wouldn't have the courage to tell me to stop whenever…"

            I raised my eyebrows.

            "…I got carried away," He finished lamely. "Not like _that_, of course," he added, seeing my look.

            "See?" I asked. "You didn't love her. She wasn't the right one for you. You'd would've driven each other nuts. And Jack…you can't marry everybody." He looked at me, surprised.

            "You know, she said that…" he trailed off. 

            "Just think," I pressed on. "If she hadn't cut it off you would've started to hate her, because she wouldn't say no and she wouldn't fight back. And just think what that would've done to you and Davie."

            "Yeah," he patted me on the back. "You're a good guy, Baldy. You understand girls better than I do."

He turned, and walked out the door.

Heh, I thought. Right.

~**~


	4. Baldy

Title: A Simple Twist of Fate

Author: Amiee Amelie

A/N: I'd like to thank you for the wonderful reviews! As I haven't really written anything before, it seemed a little odd to get reviewed on my writing. So I wanted to thank you all for being so nice about it. :)

~**~

Chapter 4: Baldy

            So I started work today. I was completely clueless. It can only be described as a nightmare until Racetrack took pity on me and explained how things worked.

            Nah. I lied. The entire day could be described as a nightmare, even after Racetrack took pity on me and explained how things worked.

            I got up way before the rest of the newsies-was clean (finally!) and dressed by the time Kloppman had hauled the other lazy bums out of bed. Then I had to stand around until the stampede-really the only way to describe it-thundered down the stairs and out to the door to breakfast.

            "Breakfast" I found, consisted of badly made coffee and buns that had the consistency of lead. But I wasn't complaining; especially as I didn't have any supper the night before. The food was distributed by some very homely nuns-one of whom looked more like a man than I do, which one of the boys was kind enough to point out.

            I don't think he'll be selling today.

            But people don't seemed to pity him much, as they all pointed out that "he should have known, given what happened to Racetrack"  that "He deserved it" and that "he gave as good as he got."

            Yeah, well, now I'll have a shiner to match Race's. Maybe it'll make me look a little more…tough. I hope it does. I can't go around knocking people down. I can't go around getting knocked down, either. It's not like it's a very pleasant experience.

            But anyway, we got to-Weasel? Whysel? I couldn't really hear his name, but can only say that he was fat and ugly and he smelled bad. Not exactly a friendly combination.

            Apparently he had lost his job a few months after the strike, only returning with his two minions-of-doom when Kloppman broke his leg falling down a flight of stairs.

            So, to everybody's sadness, he returned with the goons-who apparently have names, but, as I have observed, not personalities. They stand there looking goonish and making vague threatening grunting noises at Cowboy, who stands at the front of the line. Cowboy seems more amused than threatened by the grunts, and would probably soak them if they got too irritating. That seems the way things work around here.

            So anyway, I stood to the side, staring at this mass of humanity all trying to get into line and buy papes. I stood there, utterly confused, until Racetrack appeared at my side, chewing on a smelly cheap cigar, and laughing at my helplessness. 

            Which I really didn't mind all that much, as long as he wasn't calling me "princess."

            He finally stopped finding my situation hilarious and explained the whole process. After the explanation, he studied me carefully.

            "You need a selling partner," he said contemplatively.

            "I do not," I answered hotly, expecting another "princess" comment. He seemed to catch my drift.

            "Everyone has 'em," he said, striking a match on the sole of his shoe. "'Cept me. But I'm different. Hey Boots!" Boots obligingly walked over. "Show him the ropes, will ya?"

            Having thus disposed of me, he meandered off to buy his papes. Boots then quickly foisted me off onto Mush, and from there I went to Skittery, Kid Blink, Snoddy, and Itey, all of whom seemed slightly distrustful of me and eager to get away. 

            I was finally passed off to the unsuspecting Davey-someone I had heard of, but never met. As he wasn't at the Lodging House, or breakfast, for that matter, he didn't witness me knocking down anybody, which was probably a good thing. His sister, I suddenly recalled, was the one who gave up Jack for Spot.

            "Have you ever sold papes before?" he asked. I shook my head, suddenly tongue tied again. That always seemed to happen at the most inopportune times.

            "Well, it's easy enough to do," he said. "How many'd you get?" Simple enough question. Maybe this time I could actually answer it.

            "Twenty,"  sure, it was only one word, but it was a word, none the less. He looked at me critically. 

            "Twenty? The name of the game is volume," he snorted. "Get fifty more and come back." 

            As I walked back up to Whensel? Handed him two bits, and headed back to Davey, who was laughing about something with Cowboy.

            "Just like you were, except…" Cowboy trailed off. "I'll leave you to it, then."  He walked away, hoisting an immense amount of papes over his shoulder, and throwing a smile at me.

            Davey was grinning too. I didn't see what was particularly so funny, but it wasn't like it was a huge deal, either. 

            So the entire day I trotted around, following Davey, who kept throwing me tips like, "improvise headlines" and "make up your own story." It sounded easy enough, right?

            I was horrible at it.

            I have a tendency to look extremely shifty when I lie; I turn read, and look like I'm about to bolt. Despite my schooling and expansive vocabulary, I became silent in the one trade that was designed for noise. I tried to yell-I really did. My headlines were horrible, my stories, when voiced, a disgrace. Davey, who was, I later learned, the most patient of the newsies, threw his hands in the air at the end of the day, told me where to sell back my sixty-five papes, and stalked off to his house. 

            I had only earned a nickel my first day.

            Maybe I wasn't supposed to be a newsie, after all.

~**~


	5. Davey

Title: A Simple Twist of Fate

Author: Amiee Amelie

A/N: I'm trying to vary POV's as much as possible, but it's a bit hard. Stick with me, I'm trying. :) Oh, in answer to a question: Yes, there will be couples. Just not slash. :)

~**~

Chapter 5: Davey

            The kid was really bad. 

I'm not just saying sort of, kind of bad, but maybe he'll get better.

            I'm talking, really bad. I don't know why he's a newsie. He won't speak up, it seems like he's afraid of someone, or something. Or maybe he was a mime in another life. Who knows? He just won't yell.

            Maybe I should suggest a change of profession. He's really hopeless. 

            And not just sort of hopeless. I'm talking, really, no buts about it, should toss himself in front of a carriage if he thinks he can be in this profession because he'd be better off-you get the picture. 

            But then again, so was I. I should have tossed myself in front of a carriage that first day, had Jack not gotten a hold of Les and I. Good heavens, there I was, this stupid little prick who thought he was all smart because he had an education.

            Heh. Some education. I would've died out there by myself. I would have either annoyed the Delancy's, and got soaked, or annoyed some other newsie, and got soaked, or accidentally run into Brooklyn and got soaked, and then soaked literally as well as figuratively because Spot's goons would have probably tossed me into the river afterwards. 

In fact, the only thing that kept me as a newsie was that Jack took a liking to Les and…

            …Jack…

            Why didn't I think of it before?

            I have to be the stupidest person to trod the planet.

            Of course! There is only one person for hopeless cases, and that is Jack. I mean, look at me. I may not be a first-class newsie, but I'm pretty good at what I do. And…

            I'm even stupider than I thought. I thought I was being all smart, telling him "the name of the game is volume…" just spitting things out that Jack had told me. But I didn't tell him the newsie motto, the words that if you're going to come out knowing one thing, it would be this. "Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes."

            The poor kid was trying to get along without a clue. I told him to improvise headlines, but not why he should. As if life weren't bad enough for him. I mean, good heavens, he's prettier than Sarah. 

            Not that that's hard, mind. 

            I really shouldn't be saying stuff like that about my sister…but I do think myself to be a realist. And realistically…there's no way that Jack and Sarah should have ever been together. He's a leader, and she's…not even a follower. She's a hide in the corner until someone comes to her rescue or uses sheer force to make her get up and do something. I mean, good heavens, Sarah's the complete and utter opposite of Jack. I know they say opposites attract and all, but honestly, I'm surprised Jack didn't chuck her out a window. I mean, I love her and all, she's my sister, I kind of have to.

But Jack…he needs someone different. He has to take care of so many other people, he needs someone to take care of him. Not a girl who will be the princess in the ivory tower. A girl that'll soak someone for him when he's down.

Not that I've ever actually seen him down, but you never know. It could happen.

 I'm just floored that Sarah actually worked up the nerve to leave him for Spot. 

I didn't know she had that much guts. I mean, good heavens, it's not like she ever showed backbone, til now.

            But I'm missing the point. The point is…

            …I don't quite remember what the point is.

            But that's alright. I just need to talk to Jack. Soon. Preferably before he gets back to the lodging house. Because if anybody can save Baldy, it's him. And if he can't save him, then nobody can.

            I was terribly afraid that he was going to take Sarah's actions against me. It wasn't my fault that my sister is stupid as well as ugly.

            I mean, honestly. Les has more common sense. And he's ten years old.

            As you can see, I'm not exactly happy with her, not after what she did to Jack. And with Spot, too. Not that he really cares. And not that I really blame Spot all that much, but Jack seemed pretty torn up. 

            He hasn't said anything to me, though. And he's been really good about it. It almost seems like…

            …never mind. Stupid thought.

            …I just hope I can catch up with Jack. And I really hope that Baldy isn't around. He doesn't like taking "charity," or being made to seem "weak" I've noticed. He has to be tougher than looks, just because of the way he looks, I guess. So if he show's up around Jack at the same time that I suggest he help him out…

            Lets just say Racetrack and the other kid won't be the only ones with shiners tomorrow.

            I like him, though.

            He reminds me a little of Jack.

            …Actually, he reminds me a lot of Jack. Because he acts exactly like Jack would were he in the same situation. And he's got guts. Enough to do whatever he needs to do to survive. 

            Heh. I saw him soak that one kid. It was pretty amusing to watch. And Racetrack, too. 'Course, I didn't actually see that one, but I heard the rumors. People seem to be a little scared of the kid, but everyone agrees that both of them deserved it. It wasn't like Baldy was picking fights, or anything. 

            So yeah, I think I like him.

            I hope Jack does too. 

            He's the only chance Baldy's got.

~**~

A/N: Sorry about the short chapters. They'll be getting longer, I promise. I'm just trying to keep them to one POV, which is what accounts for the shortness factor. Plus it's rather late at night, and I really should get to bed. Oh, just to let you all know, I know I went on a little Sarah bashing spree. But I figured it was in character. I mean, Sarah just dumped Davey's best friend. A slightly embarrassing situation, don't you think? So I figured that he wouldn't be exactly happy with his loving sister, and, being the good sibling that he is, use the chance to insult her as much as possible. Ok, so it isn't THAT plausible. But it was fun :D So thank you all for the lovely reviews, and goodnight!


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